The Blackening
by The Guitar Person
Summary: "For what good is it to gain the whole world, yet lose your soul in the process?" The beginning of Vergil's descent into darkness.


_**A/N: This will likely be a two shot, expanding on Vergil's motivations. Please review afterwards guys!

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The demon's rancid breath made the young man's nose curl in utmost revulsion. It smelled not unlike a pile of corpses, left to putrefy in a ditch as animals freely surrounded it with their excrement and rot.

It was a grotesque being, in Vergil's humble opinion, not because of its appearance. No, because it _dared_ presume that it had the power to overcome a Son Of Sparda.

He could feel it; each passing second, he was becoming more like _him_. It was exhilarating; he could hear heartbeats of liars before the falsities even left their lips and smell the electricity surge through a mugger's muscles before he even made a move.

As an afterthought, he idly noticed his decreasing need for sleep and how Mother's oatmeal was beginning to taste foreign to him.

He watched as the creature continued to writhe under his gaze. Vergil wanted to show this to his father, how much stronger he had become. How he would now be able to take over the cumbersome job of slaying demons in every part of the world.

Then, Sparda would stay with them. And Mother would be happy again.

"You…..proud….of yourself?" said the monster, even as his very essence spilled from his maw. The creature's mouth was twisted into a malformed imitation of a smile, its soulless black eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Watch your tone, _demon_," spat the boy, the authority in his voice not belying his seven years of existence. "I cut off one of your tongues already. Don't make me cut something you've only got _one_ of."

"Don't….get…..full…of yourself….you bastard spawn of that traitor…."

Vergil sheathed the Yamato back at his waist after flicking the blood off the pristine blade. It shone black in the moonlight, the blood. He had found the piece of filth crawling around their home, hiding amongst the foliage.

His Mother, despite her sharply honed senses as a hunter, had failed to notice its presence. It disturbed him slightly to think that a woman who could tell exactly what mood he was in regardless of his affect could miss such an _abomination_, a glaring blot in God's natural world.

"You…think…you've won?" it spat. "This…is…only the beginning! The Master….will…never stop….until Sparda's blood is….no…more…."

The small boy's hand wrapped itself around the creature's windpipe, unnatural strength choking the very life from its body.

"Who is your Master?" he snarled. "Lie to me, and you will scream for death. But I shall not give it to you."

An imitation of a smile flitted across the monster's face. "MUNDUS! The Prince of Shadows will not stop until he has delivered his revenge! He will send armies after you and those you hold most dear until the seas are red and the sun is no more!"

Vergil felt his blood chill. While he was of Sparda's blood, Mother was a mortal. Not a _mere_ mortal, that was for sure, as she was one of the strongest demon hunters in existence, but still – a human being, vulnerable to sickness and age.

"How do I get to him?" he hissed, bringing his face closer.

The demon laughed, blood spewing from its maw. "It is impossible. The Master lives in the depths, hidden from the eyes of your god. Not even the most powerful devil can find him, let alone defeat him. What's a Halfling to do?"

The boy felt his pulse quicken as the monster began to laugh loudly. "My Father did it. I should be able to do it too."

"Better hurry then, little Halfling. An army rises as we speak."

Vergil's blood froze, as he let go of the creature's throat. "When will they come?"

But the demon had fallen silent, its black eyes reflecting the pale moonlight. The grin was left carved into its grotesque features, mocking him silently.

He snuck back into his bedroom, being careful not to wake his twin snoring peacefully on the top bunk. Despite the ungodly hour, Vergil was wide awake, his mind in motion.

An army was coming for them. For him.

For Dante.

For Mother.

And father might not be – would almost _definitely_, not be around.

And for the first time since his birth, the child of but seven years, cried bitterly. He was weak and frail and when it came right down to it, a _human_ boy. If he were honest with himself, the demon tonight had been a challenge. He had heard of Father disposing of hordes of these creatures simply by being in the same room as them.

He hated Father right now, as wrong as it felt. What would happen if he disappeared once again? Would they be able to protect Mother? Did he expect him to? Was the reason he sired them….to protect the love of his life?

And suddenly, a fire began to burn in his chest.

"Of _course_ he does. I am a son of Sparda and within me flows his blood. His _power._"

It was only a matter of awakening it. 


End file.
